


collywobbles

by meremennen



Series: Just another day on the ground [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Post-Season/Series 03, but tbh ignores all of season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-23 01:55:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12495888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meremennen/pseuds/meremennen
Summary: Universal truth is, when you love someone, you love them with their flaws. And let’s be real, Bellamy Blake is completely and irrevocably gone for Clarke Griffin.Or:Bellamy Blake is Clarke afDrabble. Canon divergent.Basically ignores The 100 Season 4 (because I was supposed to post this last December and yet here we are.)Imagine this: The fam is having a light night together, drinking Monty’s moonshine when someone brings up Clarke’s horrid grounder hair. They all laugh about it, except Bellamy. He doesn’t get it. Did he miss the punchline somewhere?Alright, it spiralled from there.





	collywobbles

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be the usual lighthearted thing that I normally do. It turned out a little bit different. You tell me.  
> Bellamy POV.

_collywobbles (noun)_

  * collywobbles is described as butterflies in your stomach. It is the feeling of nervousness and uneasiness you get in the most tender and life-changing moments. That tingly sensation we get in our stomach is an indicator of our heart and mind working together, which is extraordinary and uniquely beautiful.



 

 

 

 

_“BELLAMY BLAKE.”_

If it weren’t for the subtle edge to their voice, or the warmth of the hand touching his shoulders, he wouldn’t snap out of it. Clearly, it’s not the first time they’ve been trying to catch his attention.

 

In all honesty, he doesn’t remember who called his name, or when they called his name first. He remembers being bone-tired and how good it felt stretching his legs, taking a long, deep breath after settling down for the night.

The fallen tree log he’d chosen is hard and uneven – wild like the ground. The joints in the tree are cutting into his butt through his pants, which is uncomfortable to some degree - yet it still feels so much better than the rover seat he’d had over the course of the day. (Or, over the past few weeks).

He also remembers the cheerful chattering of the others – a constant, faint buzz, more like the calming melody of an old radio seeping in through the walls.

When he’d settled down at the fire – not too close but close enough to keep an eye – they were still teasing and loud; their voices are a welcome distraction most of the time. It means they are still breathing and whole. It means they are all alive.

There are the times when he lets his mind wander, back to the past, and back to the beach – when the sight of Clarke was fading away. When waking up, and _seeing her_ again, was a possibility but he couldn’t be sure. He was wrong, of course, but the thought of losing her again, and so soon, felt way too real.

This is not one of the dark days, when he lets himself overcome with that fear. Things have changed. And he thinks things have changed for the better. They are in this together. All of them.

It is not an unusual sight to see them laugh, but moments like this are always precious. The ground was not exactly kind to them in the past.

Lost in thought, he wolfs down the rabbit leg, a leftover of the meal from the day before. It’s a little bit chewy, nonetheless, it tastes better than anything they’d had up on the Ark.

 

The day had started like any other day.  Waking up with the sun. A meagre breakfast. They’d been lucky, they’d had some leftovers from the night before. A small “bathroom” break in turns while they’d cleaned up their impromptu camp. Jumping into the rover and rushing through the day, mapping out the next track of their leg.

Getting up had been a pain, before, but – it’s like with everything else on the ground: suck it up and get used to it.

They are mapping a new piece of terrain by day, letting the rovers recharge under the setting sun. Making the campfire and sitting around the dying flames until their bodies give in is all part of the routine. But it’s good. It’s oddly peaceful out here.

He tries to tune out the voices as he follows Clarke’s retreating back with his eyes, and settles deeper into his thoughts.

Old habits die hard. Luckily it is only a habit now, and not the nervous tick he’d had before. (He doesn’t have to worry about Clarke leaving anymore.)

He bites the insides of his cheeks, more of a reminder to himself that she _can_ take care of herself.

He _knows_ she’s gone to check on her snares – another part of _her_ routine – and it shouldn’t take her longer than twenty minutes.

Their rabbit dinner is, in fact, the courtesy of her snares.

(The snares, catching and gutting the rabbits is a practical skill she had perfected during her time alone in the woods.)

To distract himself, he turns his attention to the murmurs around the fire. Not really listening, just – watching.

Harper scoots closer to Monty, burying her nose into his neck, before snatching the bottle of moonshine from his hands. His eyes follow the movement, of her head tipping back and taking a sip, her bubbling laughs repeatedly breaking the silence. Monty laughs, reaching for the bottle and passing it around.

Bellamy hopes more than anything that they’d get to enjoy this life (perhaps, even a better one) longer.

 

He’s so caught up in his thoughts he’s barely paying attention to the group when his name is called out.

_BELLAMY BLAKE._

No one calls him that.

Most days he’s just _Bellamy_ or _Blake_ , as simple as is. Octavia used to call him _Bell_ , but it’s been a while he heard the nickname.

“Hey, Bellamy! What do _you_ think?” Raven asks, amused.

She came to stand in front of him, followed by Miller hot on her heels, blocking his view.

The snickering has died down by the time he looks up, with six pairs of expectant eyes on him.

 _What?_ He raises a brow, a silent question.

Miller mirrors his expression. Raven sighs. “The hair?”

“ _What_ are you talking about?”

“ _Clarke_? And her godforsaken grounder hair?”

“Yeah,” he nods, bobbing his head in agreement. “Yeah, it was pretty. What about it?”

Miller’s lips twitch, Jasper gasps. Raven gives him _the look_ and does a remarkably shitty job at hiding her smile. (Maybe she is not even trying.)

“Pret – “ Miller sighs, cutting himself off. “You drunk, Blake?”

He shakes his head. He means to say, _I haven’t drunk, yet._ You _know that._

It’s not like they don’t know perfectly well that having a drink at the end of the day – once everyone’s settled in for the night – is _their_ thing. His and Clarke’s, that is.

They ALL know that.

Clarke makes an appearance then. The ends of her now shortly chopped hair reaching just below her chin. His eyes linger, only for a moment, his lips parting as he sucks in a deep breath of the chilly, night air.

_She’s always pretty._

“Uh-huh,” Raven and Miller eye him in unison.

He knows that they know. But they unspokenly agreed on a “do not tell” policy.

Bellamy arches an eyebrow as if to remind them to shut it and turns to Clarke. “Everything alright?”

“No luck,” she sighs. She sounds so tired. “But… we’ll see in the morning.” Hell, she looks as tired as he feels. So he scoots to the left on his log, a silent invitation for her to take a seat.

Miller catches his eye with a waggle of his eyebrows. “I’m gonna head to sleep.”

“Godddd, _Bellamy_ , you are hopeless,” Raven mutters to herself, turning on her heels and leaves with a vague wave over her shoulders.

 

+

 

Clarke eats her dinner and they chatter for a bit, going through the schedule of the next day.

The others have already left by the time he retrieves the bottle from where Jasper had left it. He pours a drink into her cup when he feels a tiny tickle on his hand. Something small and shiny and blue? And … very …. fluorescent.

A butterfly. He blinks.

Clarke laughs – a laugh that he doesn’t think he’s ever heard in his life. In some way, it reminds him of the “old” Clarke – from _before_ . When they’d just landed on the ground. When he’d called her _princess_ to mock her, and she had taken a step closer to stab a finger in his chest in defiance.

He smiles at the memory.

Then again, maybe it’s just Clarke’s happy face. Maybe both. He is sure of one thing, though, he wants to hear that more.

He wants to hush the insect away. In all honesty, seeing something so vivid and so blue might be a dream.

“Bellamy, don’t,” Clarke whispers, her warm breath tickling his neck as she leans in closer and catches his arm. Her voice is bright and her skin is warm, a pleasant feeling against the chill of the night.

Feels like the first kiss of the sunlight in the morning. It’s electrifying.

“It’s pretty,” she says. (She doesn’t let go of his arm.)

His eyes are glued to the spot where they touch, and it’s only a long beat later they slowly wander to her face.

For a while he watches her watching in awe as the butterfly is flapping its wings in a leisurely pace, lingering and not flying away.

And then a glowing butterfly lands on top of _her_ head, illuminating her face in a purple-blue light. Soon, they are surrounded by countless rapid wings: a swarm of blue butterflies.

“Really pretty,” she sings, holding his gaze.

His heart rate picks up at a maddening pace. He’s not a fool. The sight _is_ pretty. It’s nothing he’s seen before. But it’s not the swarm of glowing butterflies that makes him breathe easier at the end of the day.

It’s her, of course, he knows _this_ bodily reaction is mainly because of her. Smiling and healthy and just being in the moment with him.

“ _Yeah, pretty,”_ he rasps, echoing her words.

 

Tiredness long forgotten they stay there like that, which he presumes is hours, even though it feels like mere minutes.

The fire has completely died down by the time they bid each other goodnight and he drags his body up to head back to the tent he shares with Jasper.

“He snores,” he groans. “Like a lumberjack. You wouldn’t believe it, he is so scrawny.”

She does that carefree, happy sound again. “Raven kicked me in the stomach the other night,” she counters.

“Alright, you win,” he smiles softly and nods. “See you in the morning, Clarke.”

It’s never easy to say goodbye.

Luckily, tomorrow is still another day on the ground.

**********************************************************************************

**Author's Note:**

> Needless to say, I wrote this like a year ago but was slacking on the editing part and it took a while to find my way back to this story. Any similarities to season 4 are purely coincidental.
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Let me know what you think!


End file.
